


The Concept of Cohabitation

by nakajimagardenar



Series: The One Where You Do Giant Alien Robots [10]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: COMBATIBROS BEING BROS, F/M, Fluff, I AM SO DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH ONS IT'S EMBARRASSING, M/M, Polyamory, READER LOVES ALL THE COMBATIBROS, Reader has no defined gender, SORRY NO SMUT HERE JUST FEELINGS, Xenophilia, drabble prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5973091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakajimagardenar/pseuds/nakajimagardenar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swindle isn't here, but that doesn't mean he can't make you and Onslaught get to know each other better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Concept of Cohabitation

**Author's Note:**

> I subscribe to the school of 'gestalt teams fixate and express affection towards any member's human after prolonged exposure, thus evolving into some familial, polyamorous relationship hybrid'. Fite me. ; - )))

You try your hardest to sit still in a chair that’s much (much) too large for you, a chair that is by far larger than your entire bedroom, and you’re fairly certain it’s not really meant for you at all (no shit Sherlock). But you don’t have much of a say in the matter to begin with, not when your… Boyfriend (you aren’t really sure if that’s what he is, if he feels strongly enough for you to subscribe to that label, but god you hope he does) leaves you with his gestalt commander, a flutter of apologies and gentle kisses peppered delicately against the corners of your mouth and the back of your eyelids all that remains when he’s called planet side to do whatever it is he does best. His gestalt commander is imposing, the combined weight of being his superior officer and brother-in-arms equal parts terrifying and exhilarating for you. Not that he’s ever expressed a dislike for you, or contempt at your presence, but he hasn’t been the warmest of mechs, either. Yoou chalk it up to being part of his work (a Decepticon isn’t suppose to be nice, your botfriend tells you, and he smiles in a way that makes you come undone and just a little afraid), but you still can’t help but feel just a little resentful about the cold shoulder.

“Well if isn’t my favourite little squish!” You glance up from your contemplations to find yourself carelessly scooped out of your perch, one of your paramour’s team mates holding you against his chassis before settling into the now vacant chair and prodding at you with a blunt finger. You put on airs and huff, crossing your arms and giving the con the sternest glare you can manage - You like him, quite a bit actually, and your lover does too - He introduced you to him first, after all. “I’m not a squish,” you retort playfully, swatting at him and making a show out of looking at anything but him, arms crossed childishly over your chest. He responds by prodding at you harder, pressing curious fingers against your stomach and grinning unapologetically when you gasp for air and squirm under his touch. “Quit it, Tex!” You kick out, rolling onto your side and curling into a ball, but your actions only serve to encourage him, and before you know it he’s got his thumb digging into the small of your back, pinning you down and relentlessly poking and prodding at every inch of you he can get to.

You can’t quite stop yourself from making a fuss, and it’s your laughing and screaming and his not too subtle flirtations that finally prompts the commander to rise from his chair, scooping you wordlessly from his gestalt mate and venting out the equivalent of a long suffering sigh. “You are harassing a team mate’s partner,” you press your hands over your face for a moment, laughing still, but inexplicably flustered at being referred to as such, and he continues - “And some of us happen to be working, so if you could leave, that would be absolutely ideal.” It’s his voice that finally calms your giggling fit, and you realize you’ve yet again found yourself in someone else’s hold. His tone leaves no room for argument, even as the other combiner laughs, shrugging his shoulders and flashing you another insufferable grin, ruffling your hair (which earns him nothing short of a death glare from his brother) before turning on his heel and waltzing out of the room (“I’ll see you later,” he whispers, only to be countered with a stern “No you will not,” from said commander). “…..” You look up at the leader of your botfriend’s rag tag team, but you’re not quite able to bring yourself to look directly at him, focusing instead on the space just over his left shoulder. He doesn’t say anything for a while, doesn’t make any move to put you down or to return to his work, and the tense, acerbic silence stretches out into something almost uncomfortable. Finally, just when you’re about to cave and open your mouth, he beats you to it, his voice rumbling deep in his chest and sending small vibrations dripping down the length of your spine (it’s a nice sound, you decide).

“…Are you - ” Onslaught pauses, and you’re almost certain he’s furrowing his brows behind that visor of his, but when you finally drag your eyes up to meet his gaze he isn’t even looking at you. “Are you injured?” He sounds terribly uncertain, and for a fleeting moment you’re tempted by the urge to stat laughing again - How cute! (You keep that thought to yourself though, no need to share.) “I’m fine,” you insist, and you tentatively place a hand against one of his fingers - The contact is enough to make him look at you, and you’re suddenly wondering if maybe you’d cross some unspoken line by touching the gestalt leader. You wait for him to drop you, to hiss and recoil and tell you not to touch him (he wouldn’t be the first con to do that, but he’d definitely be the first in your boyfriend’s gestalt, even though Blast Off almost dropped you once before), but it never comes, and you almost fail to catch the way his shoulders sag in… Relief? “That is acceptable.” He doesn’t say anything else when he makes his way back to his abandoned chair, and you settle down as comfortably as you can against his chest when it’s clear he doesn’t trust the rest of his team not to come barging in and harassing you (not that you mind, of course, but he doesn’t seem all that enthused about it either way). He’s working on something or the other, and you aren’t particularly interested to know what it is - Truth be told, you really don’t want to know at all, because it’s probably unpleasant and some kind of visceral betrayal on your own race. Oh well.

You sit in mildly comfortable silence for some time, before the con places his datapad down on the edge of his table, head turning down to study you. You raise your own head back to meet his gaze, and you smile, “Finished working?” You ask lightly, head tilted to the side, and you’re only a little surprised when he reaches down and brushes your hair out of you face. “…He’ll be back soon.” You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about - It’s Swindle; your lover, his brother. “He isn’t - ” You try and gather your thoughts, try to convey a feeling that’s been growing quietly inside of you, “He isn’t the only one I want to spend time with,” you finally decide to say, “He’s not the only one I want to be with.” You decide to add, and you smile just a little brighter when the combiner’s engine makes a sound not unlike that of a whine, placing both your hands down on the warm metal of his chest, dragging your fingers along the seam of his armor. “I like everyone on his team. I like you too.” It isn’t a lie - Sure he makes you nervous, but you suspect that might be because of all the rumors you’ve heard about him more than anything else, and you continue onwards, head bowed low and voice hushed, “I want to be closer with you, too.”

“Like how you’re close with everyone else in the team?” The question is not unkind, and there’s no malice or contempt in his tone, it’s not an accusation, just a fact. “Mhhm,” you focus on following the dip of his chest plates with your fingertips, touch gentle and barely there at all. “…You don’t want to be close with me?” You wonder if you were left here, with him of all mechs, because your partner wanted you two to get along. You wouldn’t put it past him, he’s the reason you started seeing his aloof, lonesome and condenscending brother (you suspect he almost dropped you that one time, because he was a little overwhelmed at the idea of finally having a human) and the loud brash one who liked to blow things up and punch his problems (the other loud one; not the one who liked to make you laugh, the one who made everyone else in the room wince and speak in whispers, he approached you himself). The commander considers your inquiry with genuine thought, and you’re almost certain he’s about to reject you, but the way he looks at you when he’s made a decision proves otherwise, and you just can’t find it in you to stop smiling. Tentatively, he raises you just a little higher, pausing midway and flinching, and then stopping again. You find it endearing, for someone so composed and on point as he is to have such troubled unfamiliarity when it came to how to treat you so oddly refreshing. “It’s okay,” you whisper, leaning forward, hands braced on the edge of his fingers and your heart racing, “It’s alright, I’m okay. I want you to hold me closer.”Hhe makes a sound you can’t identify, and he remains unmoving despite your gentle encouragement. “…Please - ” You try again, lowering your head and pressing your lips against his fingertips in something akin to reverence, “Please.”

That sound fills the room again, and you realize belatedly that it’s the sound of his engine stalling, his internal fans kicking in. Oh. “Please.” You punctuate the word with another kiss, encouragement murmured against living metal, and to your pleasant delight he starts to move, hesitating once, twice - Before you’re finally close enough to reach out and press your hands against the metal of his faceplate, bracing yourself and sliding down as far as you’ll go without falling out of his hand completely. You’ve never seen his face, you realize, in fact, you’ve only ever seen your paramour’s face (maybe it was a para-military thing, always covering your face plates), and you wonder if, in time, the commander will show you his too. “Thank you, sir.” The honorific is teasing, more so when you press your fingers against your lips and drag them against warm metal, “I look forward to getting to know you even better real soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fite me (and send me Transformers or Undertale prompts please) at http://muffetsofficial.tumblr.com/ !!


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